


A Reason For Living

by Nonsensewords85



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Female Character, Blow Jobs, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Consensual Sex, First Time, Genderfluid Character, Girl Penis, Hope's not exactly genderfluid but it's the closest term I have, Idiots in Love, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Romance, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-11-03 17:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonsensewords85/pseuds/Nonsensewords85
Summary: About a month after the Saltzmans first came to the Mikaelson Institute Josie and Lizzie are both trying to adapt to their new lives.  Takes place after 1x10 in the second alternate reality.





	1. You Don't Have to Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed the second alternate reality in the episode so much that I couldn't get it out of my head. And so this piece was born. It takes place approximately a month after Lizzie and Josie first come to the Mikaelson Institute.

The wooden baton crashes against her forearm. Shocks of pain race through the muscle and even the bone itself. It hurts more than anticipated but she does her best to push past it and finish the move. Her fingers close around Hope’s wrist and she twists. The redhead’s hand flails open and her weapon clatters onto the wooden dock.

A flush of pride surges through Josie. She knows she’s come a long way in the month she’s been at the institute, but she still almost never lands an actual hit on Hope. The feeling is short lived however.

The Tribid’s wrist twists and Josie finds she can’t keep hold of it. Then the Tribid’s strong fingers are wrapped around Josie’s wrist. Before she can try and break the hold, Josie feels a sharp tug and suddenly she’s off balance. Hope’s other baton connects with the back of her knee and then she’s falling.

Josie grunts in pain as her back crashes into the old wood of the dock. Her breath escapes in a single burst. She loses precious seconds trying to fill her lungs. Just as she’s beginning to recover Hope is on her.

The redhead moves with a speed Josie can’t match. It’s not supernatural, just the result of years of practice. Grappling is second nature to Hope. Josie, unfortunately, is still very much a beginner. Despite the brunette’s best efforts all too soon she finds herself immobilized. Hope’s torso is pressed atop hers and the Tribid has both of Josie’s arms held in one of her hands. Josie can’t even try and use her legs to break free. Hope has settled herself in-between them and pinned them to the floor with her own. 

Still Josie tries to struggle. She’s done so well and she has no desire to taint it by once again admitting defeat. The muscles in her arms strain in vain, Hope has the right leverage to nullify any attempt Josie makes to break free. So Josie tries to buck her hips as well. It’s a desperate attempt to shake Hope loose, even a little. Josie knows that if she can get the redhead’s grip to loosen even a little she can turn this around.

And that’s when Josie feels it. The hardening flesh between Hope’s thighs. Josie’s noticed it before during their matches, but not like this. This time Josie refuses to tap out, which means the hunk of flesh is pressing against her for longer than before. Long enough for it to grow fully hard.

Josie’s face goes flush. Her breathing speeds up and her heart is pounding so fast she’s sure Hope can’t help but notice. Her legs fall open. She’s stopped struggling. The last thing she wants now is to dislodge Hope. She’s quite happy with where Hope is, match be damned. A delicious thought steals through her mind and she has stop herself from bucking again. Sure the movement might cause Hope’s thick length to rub over her pussy lips and while it would only be dry humping it would still be more than she’d gotten from the beautiful redhead in the months since they’d met. But she can’t risk spooking Hope if the redhead doesn’t feel the same. She’s not sure she could survive the rejection.

And yes, she was pretty sure Hope had been flirting with her the first night they’d met. But it was hard to be positive, because in the month since despite Josie dropping every hint possible the redhead hadn’t made a move. It was enough to make Josie certain she had imagined the interactions. Or maybe Hope had simply changed her mind. Maybe Josie simply wasn’t enough for the badass heiress who ran a secret squad of supernatural creatures on dangerous missions. Or maybe it was something else. But Josie needs answers.

Josie’s eyes latch onto Hope’s face studying the intense look she finds there. She needs a clue, anything to suggest that Hope is having the same need pulsing through her body.  But the Tribid’s face is impassive, locked into a look of intensity that Josie just can’t decipher. And then Hope shifts and Josie has her answer.

The fingers of Hope’s free hand wrap around the back of Josie’s head. The fingers slide through the brunette’s hair and begin to disrupt the knot Josie had wrapped it in for their training session. It’s all Josie can do not to moan like the thirsty slut she is. She’s not sure how Hope knows how hot having her hair played with makes her. Connor certainly never seemed to figure it out. In that moment though Josie can’t bring herself to care. It’s not nearly important enough to worry about with Hope wrapped around her like this and with Hope’s lips descending slowly towards her own like that.

She needs this. Needs Hope to show her what they are to each other. She needs to know that their flirtations aren’t just products of her fevered imagination.

The moment is shattered by a shrill sound from just beyond the wooden platform they were splayed on. Hope freezes in place as her cell phone rings again. Josie wants to beg her to ignore it, but she shouldn’t even have to and it annoys her that she has to. Because Hope is rising off her and the redhead seems to have forgotten she exists.

She tries not to become annoyed. It’s probably important, one of the field teams checking in or something. No one else would be up and calling at this hour. Maybe something had gone wrong and it was an emergency. But no matter what she told herself she couldn’t shake the realization that once again she was second best. She was the shiny object everyone wanted to look at sure, but eventually she’d have to come in second. To her sister, or the mission or whatever else the people she cared about cared about more than her.

Years of repressed anger bubbles inside and it’s all she can do not to scream. So, she stands up herself and forces her voice into a disaffected tone, as if her heart wasn’t splintering right that moment and declares:

“Well I’m going to going to clean up. Let you two talk whatever mission you have planned.”

Her legs carry her past Hope before the Tribid even has a chance to fail to acknowledge her. It hurts a little, her muscles are stiff and the adrenaline covering up the aches and pains is wearing off, but it’s worth it to be out of there. Especially since she’s right and Hope doesn’t make any attempt to stop her.


	2. Cause it’s Standing Right Before You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter for once. 
> 
> So first I want to thank everyone who leaves a comment or a kudos. While I don't generally respond I do read and really appreciate the positive feed back you all have left on this and my other stories. 
> 
> One comment I often get is inquiries into updates. Unfortunately I don't have much of a schedule. I write when I can and since my work is inconsistent and fairly all consuming during heavy periods I never know when I'll actually have a chance to write. I also don't write linearly, so I sometimes have later chapters mostly done before finishing the next one. I'm also generally working on several short stories at once. All of this means I myself almost never know when I'll have a chapter finished.
> 
> I appreciate your patience in regards to updates and if you're interested in updates to a story I highly recommend subscribing to the story, series or just my author name.

Chapter 2: Cause it’s Standing Right Before You

 

If any bar Penelope had ever had the misfortune of being in deserved to be maligned as a dive, it’s the one she’s standing in at that moment. There’s a lingering stink of stale beer and cigarette ash. The bar itself is sticky with the clearly uncleaned residue of numerous spilled drinks. The floor is as well. She’s relatively sure it’s going to take actual effort to pry her boot out of whatever she’s managed to step in.

She longs to leave this shithole and be anywhere else. Right now, she envies MG for being able to linger outside. They’d originally planned to enter together but as was so often the case for them the situation had necessitated a change in their approach. So now he’s outside securing their exit strategy.

She however, has the unenviable task of actually setting eyes on their target. Which means she needs to linger in this rank shithole masquerading as a bar. She’d be surprised at how many others had also chosen to subject themselves to this sty except for the lax policy on ids and the fact that most of them looked too young to be served elsewhere. It’s not densely populated by any means but there’s more of a crowd at three in the morning than she’d expect.

Penelope sips at the glass she’s ordered as she holds her phone tight against her ear. The amber colored liquid slides over her lips, past her tongue and down her throat. She’d rather not sip from the dirty glass at all, but she needs to maintain her cover. To everyone in the shitty bar she’s just another underage girl here to get wasted.

The truth is much less normal. She wasn’t here for the alcohol. She’d only ordered the Jack and Coke not to seem out of place. No one subjecting themselves to this place would settle for a non-alcoholic drink. And as an attractive young woman she knew she had eyes watching her. But she wasn’t drinking, not on this mission at least.

So, she’d found a way, just like she always did. A simple transmutation spell had changed the senses dulling whiskey into harmless water. The Coke in the glass, while flat and long past expired, served to conceal the visible change. So, to all the greedy eyes fixated on her she’s just another rebellious teenager sipping the drink she’d ordered.

Not that her plan was without risk. There was always the chance another witch could notice the pull of the spell or the casting itself. Her target could also have easily noticed. Same with the competition.

Still, it was a calculated risk. Penelope excelled at masking her castings. She’d spent time practicing using the most minimal amount of energy possible and to draw it in slowly and steadily. Most casters didn’t bother, but stealth was a necessity in her life so she’d made sure to learn. She was pretty good. She could evade even Hope’s detection more often than not. 

Besides, whatever the risk the spell presented it’s outweighed by her need for it. She can’t afford to have alcohol dull her senses or reflexes tonight. She’s not the only one here for the blonde. She’s clocked at least two separate groups observing the young witch. One was more worrisome than the other, but both were dangerous. Instincts honed from numerous missions told her that her competition’s interests weren’t nearly as passive as her own. One way or another Lizzie Saltzman isn’t leaving the bar alone.

The situation makes the original plan of observe and report untenable. As far as Penelope can see there are three choices: extraction, removal and abandonment. All have problems. Extraction would be messy. Given the opposition Penelope wasn’t confident they’d be able to pull off a clean extraction. There’d be combat, casualties and witnesses.

Removal has its own issues. Sure she could pull it off easily but if she was being honest, she didn’t want to remove Lizzie from the equation. She’d pull the trigger if she had to. At least she told herself she would. Lizzie couldn’t be allowed to endanger everyone at the institute. But she didn’t want it to come to that. She didn’t like killing, especially not innocent teens whose only crime was running off after knowing too much about the institute. Still, she may not have a choice. If Triad Industries gets ahold of the blonde they could learn the institutes location, and after the bastards had erased Lizzie from their memories, no one at the institute would have any idea they had been compromised, except maybe Hope. So, despite her feelings, she might need to do what was necessary.

Still, it is preferable to the third alternative. If she walks away and abandons the blonde to whichever set of scumbags want her more she’d be consigning the blond to a fate worse than the quick death she could give. Torture, death and being removed from everyone’s memories at the hands of Triad Industries. Or whatever the Sons of Oggun had planned, which according to the rumors she’d heard would be a short life of abuse followed by being harvested for parts to sell on the black market.  Despite whatever shit had happened at the institute the blonde didn’t deserve that.

She didn’t know the blonde well. Had only seen in her passing in the halls. She’d heard rumors of course. She and MG were gone too often to really be tied into the school’s gossip, but they still got the juiciest stuff. On each of their furloughs all anyone had been talking about for the last month were the new arrivals. The consensus seemed to favor the brunette. Penelope’s practiced eye knew Hope certainly did.

Reports of Lizzie were much less favorable. She’d heard cutting comments about the blonde. Needy, crazy, pathetic. Not too different than how the other witches talked about her really. Although none were brave enough to say it to Penelope’s face she knew that while the others needed her and her services they mostly viewed her as dangerous. She didn’t miss the sense of relief that came over the other students when she and MG left. She’d seen the same thing when news that Lizzie had run away had spread. 

The news had caught Penelope by surprise. She’d been planning on introducing herself to the blonde, partly to be cordial and partly because there was just something about Lizzie. The girl radiated a deep sadness that Penelope couldn’t seem to ignore and it didn’t hurt that she was pretty easy on the eyes.

Penelope’s plan had been pretty straightforward. First, swing by Hope’s room for a debrief on the mission she and MG had just returned from. Then go find the blonde in the library she always seemed to be hiding in. Worst case the blonde was as snotty as everyone said and Penelope would walk away vaguely annoyed. Best case… well it wasn’t worth thinking about. Like always nothing went to plan. Hope had shared the news and asked Penelope to head out again to find the blonde. Penelope had been surprised to find she’d been disappointed when she’d learned Lizzie had run off. Her feelings were mixed when Hope asked her to locate and see what the blonde was up to. Apparently, the answer was drinking herself to death in a dive bar across the country and making herself an easy target.

The line rang one more time before Hope finally picked up. There wasn’t any greeting, just heavy breathing and expectant silence. 

“Hey skank,” Penelope keeps her voice cheerful and in character. “You’ll never guess who I’m staring at.”

“You found Lizzie?” There’s something in Hope’s voice that Penelope can’t quite place. The Tribid sounds off, there’s a gravely quality to her voice that sounds strange. More than just the sound of Hope in the middle of a workout. Penelope is positive she didn’t wake the other girl up. It was three hours later where Hope was and the Tribid never slept past five. If Hope been keeping to her schedule Penelope’s call should have come in the middle of the redhead’s morning workout. It’s something to puzzle over later though. Penelope needs to keep her mind on the task at hand.

“Yup, your slut of an ex. She’s grinding up on two assholes. She sure ain’t choosey. Rubbing her pussy up against a pretty boy and her ass against some wannabe vato. Bet you dollars to donuts she’s going home with one of them. You want me to say anything to that cheating bitch for you?”

“I fucking hate when you talk in code. It means things are going to go to shit.” Yeah, the Tribid is definitely off. Like something has her keyed up more than normal. Penelope wonders what she’s interrupted. Though she doesn’t feel any guilt over it. After all it’s not her fault that Hope only gives them the ridiculous assignments. A fact she’s quick to remind Hope of.

“Hey not my fault you fell for a slut. I told you she wasn’t any good.” She’s drawing a few looks, but they quickly fall away. Her cover is working, they’re dismissing her as just another catty bitch mouthing off on a phone. More importantly it gives her an excuse to stare in her target’s direction, though she’s careful to make sure she’s only watching the blonde with her peripheral vision. Her eyes are locked on some teenager rubbing up against two guys. The girl isn’t too hard on the eyes. If Penelope wasn’t here on a mission, she’d probably throw her hat in the ring, see if she could show the girl an actual good time rather than a couple of quick thrusts the way the two boys pawing at her will. But it wasn’t to be. The only girl she might be taking out of here wasn’t likely to be interested or in any shape to do anything with.  

“Fine whatever. So, there’s two other interested parties. Local gang and Triad Industries?”

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Penelope responded back. “So anything I should say to the slut or is letting her catch an STI punishment enough? Could also kick her bitch ass if you want.”

“No, we’re not abandoning her or letting anything happen to her. I don’t give a shit that she ran, she’s a part of the school and once Josie calms down, I’m sure she’ll want her sister back. Look, I’m not going to ask if you can handle it discreetly. Just get her out of there safely and we’ll deal with the repercussions later.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought. I’ll tell her sluts deserve what they get. See ya skank.”

The line clicks off and Penelope flips the phone around in her hand. She fires off a quick text to MG. It’s coded of course, but they work together closely enough that she has no doubt he’ll understand. Which means she can focus on what comes next.

It seems she’s not the only one planning to make a move. Two of the local gangbangers have approached Lizzie. They have her flanked, so that she can only easily focus on one at a time. One’s in her face with a cheesy pickup line and a take no prisoners attitude. The other is slipping something into the blonde’s drink. Penelope can’t make out what it is from where she’s sitting but it can’t be anything good. There’s too much uncertainty to allow Lizzie to consume it. It could be anything from a roofie, to a tracker or even a poison. She and MG had come across gangs using all three to abduct supernaturals. There was a black market in supernaturals and more than a few gangs wanted in on the lucrative market. The worst were those populated by other supernaturals. They had access to methods that a standard gang didn’t, which made any attempt to interfere much more dangerous.

She recognized the tats on the assholes targeting Lizzie. Her local contact had warned her of them. The Sons of Oggun were a gang comprised of mortals and witches. Which gave her an idea. Hopefully one of the assholes was a witch.

She palms one of the knives hidden on her person and mutters a quick spell. Nothing fancy. Discretion is her friend here. She slides up to where the banger who was spiking Lizzie’s drink is standing. She’s careful to slur her words and sway a little.

“Hey creep, hands off my friend’s drink,” she demands. Her empty hand lashes out and she’s able to spill the drink easily enough. “Woops,” she declares, even though it’s no accident. And now she’s the center of attention which is what she needs.

She shoves past the would-be poisoner and threads her arm around Lizzie’s waist. “Come on babe, let’s get the fuck away from these Neanderthals.” The insult seems to do the trick and the banger who was distracting Lizzie steps forward rage painting his face.

“Back off dyke. Cutie’s coming with me.” Penelope resists the urge to roll her eyes. It’s a struggle though. Of course, he’s a homophobe as well as an angry manchild who needs to assert his masculinity. Still, it works in her favor. His loud declaration makes him the focus on the men in black suits threaded throughout the crowd.

He grips her shoulder. Probably to intimidate her as well as stop her movements. Though it accomplishes neither. All he does is play into her hands.

Reaching up with the hand palming the knife she shoves the arm off her. Using the momentum of the gesture she flings the knife with as much force as she can manage. She’s not able to aim at her target, not and keep it looking as if the asshole in front of her is the one who threw the blade. But she doesn’t need to. The enchantment on the knife drives it to its target.

She knows it’s hit its mark when she hears the scream from one of the agents who had been moving to encircle them. What follows next is pure chaos as the agents of Triad Industries react to the attack. Weapons are pulled free and shots ring out. Penelope had been ready and pulls Lizzie to the floor. The Sons of Oggun aren’t so lucky. The one who had gripped her should is hit by a bullet before he knows what is happening. He leaves a smeared trail of blood as he slides down the face of the bar. Great, Penelope thinks, another stain on that disgusting wooden mess.

His coconspirator is more fortunate. Penelope feels the power gathering in his hands and while she can’t hear the words he’s chanting over the screams of the kids reacting to the mess she’s created, she has a good idea of what’s going to come next.

Sure enough the bullets freeze just before striking his flesh. She’d bet anything he’s manipulating the metal. The bullets spin slowly until they are facing the men who’d fired them. And then the gangbanger makes another gesture and metal is flying through the air. The bullets strike the agents. Several crash into body armor, but enough find exposed flesh to take down the agents.

She can hear groans of pain and muttered curses. It looks like most of them would live. She’s more ambivalent about that then is probably healthy. As much as the shits deserve whatever they get, that means she and Lizzie are the sole targets. Which would be more of a problem if she hadn’t come prepared.

When he grabs her by her collar and pulls her off the floor and away from Lizzie she’s ready. He’s expecting a scared teenager desperate to get away. She enjoys proving him wrong. She starts with by smashing the heel of the palm of her empty hand into his nose. Close quarters combat isn’t her strength, but she’s picked up more than a few tricks. Her next attack is a stomp to the inner curve of his foot. As he reels off balance it’s time for her final move. She lashes out with the dagger she has palmed. She feels the spell he casts to stop it. He’s wearing a smirk which quickly fades into a mixture of panic and shock when the blade slashes against his throat. She doesn’t stop there though. She shifts her weight and reverses the stone dagger’s path. The sharpened tip slams into the side of his neck. The skin breaks and she keeps pushing until she feels his neck against the side of her hand. She yanks the knife free and steps back to make sure she’s not in the bath of his arterial spray. As he slips to the floor, she turns her attention to Lizzie.

The blonde is still splayed out on the floor. She’s babbling something that Penelope can’t quite make out over the obnoxious noise pumping from the ancient sound system. The girl is clearly too drunk to stand, and Penelope resists the urge to roll her eyes as she bends down to help the other girl up.

She’s half expecting a bullet in her back, but it never comes. She and Lizzie are the last ones standing. The drunk college kids who were happily drinking and hitting on each other have fled, their desperate screams still lingering in the air. The Sons of Oggun are both dead and it seems they didn’t have any backup inside the club. The agents were either in agony or dead and seemed incapable on focusing on two girls trying to make their way out of the bar.

It takes a lot of manhandling and muttered cursing but eventually Penelope manages to get Lizzie upright. Though it’s only the start of Penelope’s struggle. Getting Lizzie out of the bar and to safety is going to be a problem. The blonde is too drunk for even self-preservation to steady her limbs. The best Lizzie can manage on her own is to stumble forward a few steps before losing what little balance she’d found.

Penelope bites back a groan of frustration and closes the distance between herself and the blonde. She grips the blonde’s arm and moves it so it’s draped across her shoulders. With Lizzie settled, she wraps her own arm around Lizzie’s waist and pulls the blonde close. Then with careful, deliberate steps she pushes them forward. It’s slow going. Penelope is forced to carry most of the blonde’s weight. But it’s not all bad. Penelope can feel the blonde’s breast pressing into her side. Lizzie’s head rests on her shoulder and the pleasant scent of the blonde’s shampoo fills her nostrils. It’s more pleasant than Penelope wants to admit.

When they push past the entrance to the bar Penelope is pleased to see MG waiting for them. He’s sitting in the front seat of a car that he’d probably acquired through creative means. It’s a red Camry and is a little too conspicuous for their needs. But she can’t really complain. Not with Lizzie’s weight straining her shoulders and knees. She needs to put the blonde down soon or they’ll end up sprawled on the floor again. 

Somehow, Penelope manages to get the backdoor open and Lizzie situated inside. There’s not time to worry about seatbelts or the fact that the blonde is essentially half laying down. So, Penelope follows the blonde in. As soon as the door slams shut MG takes off. The car emerges from the alley which leads to the club into a side street.

MG’s driving is flawless. He’s keeping them under the speed limit and driving steadily as if they aren’t fleeing a massive crime scene. Penelope knows he’ll get them where they need to go, so she turns her attention to the blonde. She can’t leave Lizzie lying half passed out on the seat. Not only isn’t it particularly safe, but it could draw a cop’s attention and they really couldn’t afford to be pulled over.

So, Lizzie needs to be sitting up and preferably buckled in. Which are two tasks clearly beyond the blonde’s current capabilities. Which means it’s up to Penelope. It would be easier if Lizzie were fully passed out, as then Penelope could just brute force the girl into position and the belt on. But Lizzie was still barely aware. The blonde kept muttering and her arms flailed whenever Penelope tried to reach for her. Penelope couldn’t be positive, but it didn’t seem like Lizzie was trying to push her away. The blonde’s movements looked like a rather inept attempt to pull Penelope down to join her. Which was probably just Penelope’s oft ignored libido chiming in.

She needs to get it together. They aren’t out of the woods yet. And besides, perving on some drunk, clearly fucked up girl wasn’t her. Thankfully getting Lizzie upright and buckled takes all of her mental focus and Penelope doesn’t have time to think about the blonde’s behavior in any light other than annoying. The blonde squirms and makes it far more difficult than it needs to be.

Eventually Lizzie is strapped in and upright. For a minute anyway. And then the blonde tilts over and her head lands on Penelope’s shoulder. Which is fine. It’s not like the familiar gesture and the tickling sensation of hair against her neck is the closest thing she’s had to intimacy in ages.

That’s all it is. She’s certainly not falling for a blonde she doesn’t even know. It’s just been ages since she’s so much as flirted with an attractive girl. And the last few times had only been to get closer to a target. Sure a few of those girls were at the institute but the only one who was interested in women still wasn’t speaking to her. Which was okay, other than the fact that she had a nice ass Penelope hadn’t felt so much as a spark for the other girl. If she’s being honest with herself Penelope knows she’s more disappointed with the fact that she’s alone than about the other girl’s lack of interest.

It’s probably the same thing with Lizzie. It’s just Penelope’s desire to have more than just the next mission. The desire had been lurking under the surface for a little while now. But she had no doubt that seeing Hope thirsting so hard had made it worse.

She and Hope had always been birds of a feather. Too consumed with the mission to make time for anything else. And sure Hope was bi and she was gay, but still the tribid understood the difficulties of being different in that way better than MG did. Her friendship with Hope had evolved solely but the redhead was her best-friend. Even more so than MG. MG might be her platonic life-mate, but it was different with Hope. She and MG were very different people, which is why they worked so well. Hope, well Hope got her on a more instinctive level.

Which was why it was so hard seeing Hope so obviously falling for Josie Saltzman. It reminded Penelope of how few people she had really. And yes, she wanted the redhead to be happy and if the brunette did that, then Penelope wished Hope all the best with it. Still, it was a reminder of the fact that Penelope would always been alone, an outsider among friends. It wasn’t the vaunted A-team that Hope had turned to after all. No it was Penelope who had been sent across the country so Hope could keep the mission secret from her want to be girlfriend. Penelope didn’t want or need to get caught up in the Saltzman family drama, but Hope had been insistent that Josie not know that Penelope and MG were out looking for Lizzie. So clearly there was something going on there. And yes it was nice that Hope trusted her enough to do this. But she was still sent off with little more than a hello.

The car slows and her mind snaps back to alertness. There’s no threat, thankfully. MG apparently has decided they had been driving in random patterns long enough and has brought them to the motel they’d camped out in. When the car stops at the curb she goes about getting herself and Lizzie out of the car.

It takes far too long, but the half hour they’d spent driving around wasn’t enough to sober up the blonde, so once again Penelope is doing all the work. By the time she has the blonde to and through the door and into the room, MG has taken off. He’ll drive for a while, make a few other stops and then drive the car out of town before coming back. It’s standard operating procedure for them. And with his enhanced speed he’s able to ditch the car far away and then run back, making it far more difficult to pick up their trail.

Which is fine. It gives Penelope time to get the blonde situatued and check in with Hope. The redhead would want a status update.

Lizzie’s head hits the pillow relatively easily. At least compared to any other activity involving the blonde. If Penelope had to guess, the blonde had finally worn herself out. Hell, maybe she was even starting to sober up.

Which was good. It meant she wouldn’t have to keep hope waiting any longer. She dials the familiar number and waits for the redhead to pick up. A mischievous thought flashes through her mind and she decides to go with it. After all she’s earned a little amusement after the night she’s had.

“How’d it go?” Hope’s voice is strained than before. Though there’s more resignation in it before. It’s a sound Penelope has heard before, often when she and Hope are commiserating about sacrificing normal lives for the cause.

“Whelp we’re tunnel buddies now, so well.”

“Gross, Penelope.”

“Because you’re into her sister or because it’s me?”

“Both. Definitely both.”

“I think I should be offended by that.” Penelope knows her tone is anything but offended. Truthfully, Penelope has no interest in Hope and is relieved the redhead only thinks of her platonically as well.

“Yeah right. Cause you want your best friend perving on you.” There’s a pause while Hope clearly collects her thoughts. “Is it that obvious?”

“Your thing for Lizzie? I mean why else am I across the country looking for a runaway? It’s not like she’s the first person to leave the school.”

“Okay, fine this might have been more personal than I admitted. But that’s how you knew?”

“Well it’s not like I’ve been around much to see how badly you’ve been thirsting for her.” A heavy sigh fills the line. “What’s wrong? She not interested?”

“No. Maybe, I can’t tell. I thought there was something today while we were sparring. I ended up on top of her-”

“Completely by accident I’m sure.”

“Shut up. I had a reaction. And she didn’t run away. At least not till the phone rang. Then she stormed off. I think. I mean she didn’t wait for me to finish with you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey…”

“No, really, you are. You were on top of her and hard and got up to take a phone call. No way she’s not feeling rejected. And I bet you haven’t talked with her yet.” The silence is telling. Penelope doesn’t bother to hide her irritation with her friend. “Get off the phone and go find her. Apologize and tell her how you feel and that you’re an idiot.”

“I don’t even know where she is.”

“Bet she’s taking a cold shower.”  

“You suck.”

“Aww you know you love me. Anyway, we’ll be head out in a few days, present in tow.”

“Why the delay. Everyone okay?”

“Yeah, just our friend is trashed. She’s gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. It’ll probably be slow going.”

“Fine, probably better that way. Give me time to think of how to bring it up to our headmaster and Josie.”

“Good luck with that. I’m gonna go shower before my partner in crime gets back. Night.”

The line clicks dead and Penelope goes to check on the blonde. She’s thankfully passed out.

With the blonde situated and her call made, Penelope has the chance to take care of herself for a minute. She’s pretty sure the rank air of the bar has fused itself onto her skin. She desperately needs a shower. Hopefully the water and whatever cheap soap the motel has can get it off of her.

The only thing the shitty motel room has going for it is the shower head. There’s a good amount of water pressure and the water is thankfully hot. She stands under the stream of water, letting it pound into her flesh. She scrubs with as much vigor as she can manage. Her mind drifts as she goes through the familiar ritual of rinsing herself. She thinks back to the bar, forcing herself to relive the mission. It’s partly to give herself a chance to process everything and think on what lessons she could draw from the experiences. Things often moved too fast during a mission for her to do anything but deal with things as they were.

There was probably a way to have handled the situation with less violence. Maybe she could have drugged or quietly taken out the gangbangers. Then she could have slipped out with Lizzie. She runs through that scenario, tries to imagine how it could have gone. How she would have handled the agents.

She’s not beating herself up, though MG insists that this habit of hers is exactly that. The truth is that she finds it meditative. For one thing it often proves that she handled the situation as best as possible. Besides, it actually serves a purpose. In the moment it’s easier to come up with different options if she’s already through potential outcomes. The next time she needs to get someone out of bar, maybe she’ll have easier access to a back exit or more space to operate discretely and these thoughts will be useful.

Unfortunately, her musings are interrupted by the door slamming open. Her body tenses. No one should have been able to get into the room. The barrier she’d cast on the window and door should have been enough to stop any stealthy intrusion. Even MG couldn’t get in. He was supposed to text her when he was done disposing of the car and needed to be let in. It was part of their standard protocol. Which left Lizzie.

Penelope’s deduction is further supported by the following sounds. There’s flesh crashing against tile and the sound of retching. Fuck. Of course the blonde drank herself sick. Penelope considers just staying were she is, letting the blonde finish and hope that there’s not too much of a mess. But the sounds of misery are getting to her.

Steeping out of the shower she finds the blonde exactly where she expected. Penelope takes a second to grab a towel and wrap it around herself and close the door the blonde left ajar. It’s letting the warm air out and the cold air in.

She kneels behind the blonde and gently gathers the other girl’s hair. She holds it up and out of the path of the periodic stream of regurgitated food, stomach acid and alcohol. Compassion fills her as she watches the blonde in obvious discomfort. She remembers the last time she’d drunk herself into a similar state. It had been after a brutal mission that contained more regrets and pain than the brunette had wanted to deal with sober and so she’d drank until the world and its concerns had faded. Then a new simpler pain had taken over and she’d spent the night hunched over the porcelain throne. Much like Lizzie.

Unlike Lizzie though, Penelope hadn’t had anyone to hold her hair or rub circles into her back. Or get her water and encourage slow gentle sips. All things she does for Lizzie over the course of the time the blonde spends hunched over and crying.

Penelope can only make out bits and pieces but the blonde is starting to become more coherent as time passes and her stomach empties into the pool of water in front of them. Every so often Penelope pulls the lever so that the stench doesn’t become too over powering.

When the blonde’s body finally stops shaking and her stomach contents stay put, Penelope helps her stand up. She’s surprised that there’s only a little vomit on Lizzie’s clothes. Still it’s too much and now the blonde will need to clean off or the room will reek horribly throughout the night.

With her improved coherence it’s not too difficult to get Lizzie out of her stained clothing and into the shower. Unfortunately, the blonde is still far too drunk to stand safely or to be left alone in a bath. So, Penelope is forced to join her. Which is fine. It isn’t like Penelope had finished showering herself.

Penelope tries to focus on keeping the blonde upright and helping her clean herself. It’s hard to ignore the soft feeling of Lizzie’s skin under her hands as she smears soap over the blonde’s body. Especially since she’s having to work by touch alone because her eyes are staring off into the tile to avoid stealing a look at the blonde. It wouldn’t be right, though the temptation is strong.

The blonde isn’t making it easy. Now that she’s more coherent Lizzie seems to have entered an affectionate phase. Her hands keep finding their way to Penelope’s arms. And other parts of her. More than once Penelope has to gently move the blonde’s hands away from pawing at her chest. The sensations send a flush of warmth through Penelope, as well as a flash of guilt. The latter forces her to cut the shower short, once she’s sure all the vomit has been washed away and they both smell of the scented soaps in the motel’s bathroom.

She also manages to get the blonde to brush her teeth, though it doesn’t go great. There’s toothpaste smeared on the counter by the time they’re done. Penelope’s tempted to try and get the blonde to use some mouthwash as well but there’s too great a chance the blonde will end up swallowing it.

All that’s left is finding something for the blonde to wear. In the end Penelope ends up stealing a pair of MG’s briefs for the blonde and sharing one of her own night shirts. The large shirt reaches down to the blonde’s thighs so modesty isn’t too much of an issue.

Whatever energy the blonde found is long since gone and she crawls into bed without any prompting from Penelope. Which leaves Penelope with a decision. She needs to figure out where she’s going to sleep. Chances are MG will whine all day tomorrow if she takes the other bed. And yet she has no desire to sleep on the floor or the small armchair in the corner.

It also seems the blonde has strong feelings on the issue as well. She begins to whine and her arms reach for Penelope. It’s quite the ridiculous sight. One that makes the brunette smile. The blonde’s offer is certainly tempting. A part of Penelope knows it’s a terrible idea. But the blonde’s pleas are growing increasingly desperate.

Besides there’s only two beds. Either way Penelope is going to be sharing. She might as well give in to the blonde’s demands. At least one of them would be comfortable. With a roll of her eyes Penelope slides into the other side of the bed and tries to leave a respectful distance.

She closes her eyes and waits for sleep to come but it doesn’t. Which is just as well. It’s better she keeps an eyes on Lizzie for a little while. It also gives her time to think.

She’s not sure what’s taking MG so long. Still he hasn’t sent a distress message and it’s not like he hasn’t spent longer ditching a car before. At least once he’s spent an entire night doing so. Her phone vibrates on the nightstand and the message he’s sent suggest that tonight will be the same.

  _Lots of interest. Found a buyer with a good offer. We’re gonna meet in the morning. Gonna grab a room nearby so I’m on time._

Even with exhaustion seeping into her body she has no problems with the code. The competition is still looking for them and even though he’s successfully disposed of the car, he’s going to wait to return until the morning.

She considers getting up and taking the other bed. But the blonde has turned and one of Lizzie’s arms has found its way around Penelope’s waste. She doesn’t want to move and risk waking the softly snoring blonde. And it’s not like she’s going to do anything untoward to the other girl. So she lets her eyes flutter shut and waits for sleep to claim her.


	3. I'll Be Your Dream

Chapter 3: I'll Be Your Dream

Josie isn’t sure how long she’s been standing under the steady stream of hot water. It’s more than long enough that in the old dilapidated two bedroom closet she’d shared with her father and sister until a few months before, she’d be standing in a stream of freezing water with goosebumps coating her body. Thankfully, the Institute’s hot water heaters are incredible. She’s not sure if it’s magic or just obscenely expensive equipment but the water seems to heat to the perfect temperature instantly. Which means a nearly endless stream of hot water. It’s amazing. And exactly what she needs.

The heat penetrates past the barrier of her skin and into the muscles strained and aching from yet another sparring session with Hope. The aches and pains have been accumulating with each session. Which has lead Josie to linger in the shower waiting for the hot water to relax her muscles. It also gives her a safe space to calm down from what had almost happened and what actually had.

Rather than linger on how close Hope’s lips had been to her own and the frustration of having that torn away at the last second, she focuses on her body and the pains afflicting it. Her shoulder is tight and needs more than just the hot water.

Her fingers dig into the taught flesh and begin to rub little circles into it. It’s a trick that she’d picked up from her days cheerleading. It was actually Dana that had showed it to her. After one particularly brutal session the blonde had waited until it was just the two of them in the locker room and then had joined Josie in the communal shower. Josie had almost moaned when the blonde’s fingers had found their way to her back. An unspoken question had died before leaving her lips and she’d just let the blonde continue. Far too soon it had ended and the blonde had offered an explanation that it helped with the stiffness. Which it did. Though it had certainly caused other needs inside Josie. Needs like those she is trying to not think about now.

So, she turns her attention back to her body and its pain. Her back endured far more impacts than her shoulder and the muscles there are even tighter.  She wants to rub them softly under the hot water. But she can’t reach comfortably. What she really needs is another set of hands to help her reach the spots she can’t. The thought of hands other than her own latching onto the aching knot halfway down her back and oh so slowly rubbing it out until it’s gone sends a pulse of need through her. Which is made even worse by the thought of just who she really wants touching her.

Until a month ago it would have been Dana occupying that fantasy. Which she always felt a little guilty about. It should probably have been her now ex-boyfriend. She loved Connor, or a least she was sure at the time she had, but he was terrible at massages. His attention would wander, and his hands would end up reaching for her tits or pussy far before she was ready to have them pawed at. By the end she’d be blowing him and her muscles would still be tight and aching. And sure, having him cum for her was always nice but he never managed to work out a single knot and she’d always be more sore and tired after. Dana had always been far better.

Since that first time, Dana always seemed to wait for Josie to finish her responsibilities after practice before showering. Which meant it was just them. Josie never had to ask and Dana never forced her to. The blonde would close the distance between them and Josie would find herself facing the wall as water fell upon them. For those few precious moments while they’d shared the small tile room containing the shower heads Dana’s only focus was Josie. Dana’s hands were earnest and dedicated to their task. They’d move softly but with purpose over every inch of Josie’s back. They’d stop frequently to give particular attention to a particularly troublesome spot. Under those firm fingers Josie would feel her body comply and relax. Each time Dana had touched her that way Josie had melted into the other girl’s arms.

By the time Dana made her way to the cleft between Josie’s thighs, the brunette would always be ready and close to begging. Dana’s fingers sliding over the slick flesh was the closest to heaven Josie had ever come. And unlike Connor, who would grow bored and give up if she didn’t climax quickly, Dana’s fingers would stroke and tease and explore until Josie couldn’t contain herself and even the sound of the falling water was drowned out by her cries. In the end the only thing that kept Josie upright as her world whited out with pleasure was Dana’s soft but deceptively strong arms.

After Dana would just raise her fingers to her lips and Josie would shudder as she watched that pink tongue run out over them. She’d always wonder what Dana’s tongue would feel like tasting it from the source. Or how it would feel to run her hands over the blonde’s body. Or even an explanation for why this kept happening this despite Josie having a boyfriend and Dana never showing any interest in her outside of that small dingy room. But Dana never offered one and Josie never forced her to.

After, they would just finish up and Connor would be waiting for them outside the locker room. Josie would give him a quick kiss and a flash a sorry smile to Dana. But neither said anything to him. It was just their little secret.

But as much as she misses her friend and those gentle massages it’s not the intense blonde’s features she wants to see. She wants to see a fiery streak of red reflected in the smooth tile of the shower and the falling water. She wants to feel callused and powerful hands digging into her flesh. She wants to be wrapped in the unique scent of sweat and soap that always clung to the owner of that vibrant red hair, equal parts musky and sweet. She wants Hope.

Only she doesn’t. Not now at least, not after this afternoon. Anger still burns in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Hope, warring with the lust and desire her memories had conjured up.

The water suddenly feels too hot and the walls of the shower too close. Her skin feels flush and almost feverish. Her muscles are tightening again, undoing the progress of however long she’s been under the stream. She’s desperate to shut it off and step out of the suddenly tight cubicle but she feels a desperate urge to stay.

Because she’s buying time. For Hope. She doesn’t want to be mad at the redhead and doesn’t want the redhead to have let her down liked everyone else does. So she’s been making excuses to linger longer. So that Hope can find her and explain. Maybe they’ll fight. Or maybe the redhead will redeem herself and prove that Josie isn’t just a toy that can be put down once playtime is no longer convenient.  

The anger she’s feeling at the reservation isn’t for Hope. It’s for herself. She always does this. Tries and create a justification for others so she can avoid the unpleasant truth. The truth is no one wants her enough to really commit. Not Connor, not Dana and now not Hope. Connor’s eye was always wandering. She’d caught it sliding over other girls when they were together time and again. Dana’s caring for her never went beyond their secret encounters and a few drunken make outs to titillate whoever was around them. With Hope it seemed she would always be second best to whatever call or mission there might be.

She knew it isn’t exactly fair to be angry with the redhead about earlier. The call could have been life and death. But Josie’s emotions aren’t listening to her brain. The hurt is persistent and just won’t fade.

When her fingers are thoroughly wrinkled and her skin is starting to turn red from the heat she finally has to admit that the little voice whispering in her head is right. Hope isn’t coming. She slams the button to the shower harder than necessary.

Her hand hurts from the impact and she’s still muttering curses under her breath as she grabs her towel and rushes to dry herself. It’s not a thorough job. There are still water droplets clinging to her legs when she gives up and wraps the towel around herself. It takes more effort than she wants to spend to get her jeans over the wet flesh. Her top clings to her skin as well and she’s pretty sure there are small wet spots peppered all over. She decides to forgo worrying about her hair and makes her way out of the Action Squad’s locker room. While Josie’s not technically a member of the squad, Hope lets her shower there after their work outs. The door closes with a soft thud behind her.

She’s only a few steps beyond the doors when she hears a fake cough. While she’d like to believe her sudden about face looks cool and collected she’s reasonably sure that’s not the case. Which is mortifying because hanging out, nonchalant and gorgeous without even an iota of effort is Hope.

The Tribid’s hair sways gently in the breeze and Josie can’t help but stare at the way the sweat makes the redhead’s workout clothes cling to her torso. The thick scent of Hope’s sweat is drifting into Josie’s nose and it takes all her willpower not to surge forward and claim the redhead’s lips with her own. She’s still mad. The fact that the redhead is stupid hot isn’t going to change that.

“Hey,” Hope’s voice is soft. Josie’s response is softer.

“Hey.”

They both stand there as the rising sun slowly inches forward. Josie has so many things she wants to say. Nothing comes out though. Having to say any of it runs it all. If Hope really gave a shit Josie wouldn’t need to explain any of this.

“I’m sorry,” Hope says. It’s a promising start. One that’s ruined utterly but what comes next. “Penelope pointed out I was being-”

Josie doesn’t hear the rest though. Her heart has started pounding again and she has no control over her body. Suddenly she’s turning and storming off again, leaving Hope gaping in her wake.


	4. I'll Be Your Wish

She’s still alive. That’s her first and only thought upon waking. At least she’s pretty sure she must be. Her Dad had been dead once long before she was born and surely, he would have mentioned it when he’s drunkenly told her the story if he’d still felt pain. She felt pain. Lots of pain. Everywhere. Ergo she wasn’t dead.

Though she wouldn’t be surprised if just a few steps from death’s door. She certainly felt shitty enough. Her eyes ached if she so much as tried to open them. Her head throbbed and muscles felt like she’d been forced to endure another of Hope’s training sensations, so her sister could pretend there was another reason to be there than hit on the redhead. The taste lingering in her mouth suggested she must have gargled a combination of mint and battery acid. From the way her stomach was churning she was guessing she must have swallowed some of it in addition to rinsing her mouth with it.

The worst though was the stabbing that occurred in her head each time she was forced to ear the hushed whispers coming from the other side of the room. She’s not sure who the people are, or what they want. She’s also not sure how she ended up in this bed or even how she got out of the bar.     

Her memories are too much of a muddled mess to make sense of. Her last clear ones are of sitting in the bar and waiting. She’d arrived early. Nerves had gripped her so tightly that she remembers being afraid she’d chicken out. So, she’d turned up as soon as she could. But it hadn’t helped. She’d still felt anxiety bubble and thrash beneath the surface. Fear about what would come next and doubt about whether she could really go through with it had plagued her. It had quickly reached a tipping point and she could feel an incident coming on, so, proving she really was her father’s daughter she’d ordered a drink to take the edge off. One had become several. She’d eventually lost track.

The first shot was brutal. It tasted gross and she remembers having no idea how her father and sister could like drinking. The second went down easier. As did the third and fourth. Everything after that is fuzzy. There had been more drinks as she waited. Some she’d bought and most from men hanging around trying to catch her attention. She doesn’t think she’d done anything with any of them, but she may have. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore. Or it shouldn’t have. But she’s still alive.

Was that what happened last night. She’d gotten fucked up and then fucked everything up again? Did she go home with some fucking idiot and miss her window? 

No, even she couldn’t be that stupid. If she’d decided to lose her virginity before going through with this surely, she would have banged someone in the bathroom of the sketchy bar and then returned to waiting. What she’s trying to do is too important. But the facts are the facts. 

Fact one: she’s still alive. Fact two: she’s in some strange bed. Fact three: from what little she could see during the brief time she’d managed to keep her eyes open before the pain had been too great, she’s in some shitty motel room. Fact four: she has a few fragments of a memory of two guys. Gang members she thinks. They had been aggressive. Fact five: she was a screwup who ruined everything for everyone she cared about.

She didn’t like the picture adding those facts up creates. And yet there’s another fragment that makes her question that picture. A girl.

It’s blurry but Lizzie thinks she can almost remember a girl coming up to her. There was definitely an arm looped around Lizzie’s waist and she thinks it didn’t belong to either of the guys she remembers. She thinks she can remember a few snippets spoken. Someone definitely called her a dyke. Which was incorrect as well as offensive. She’s pretty sure she’s bisexual. Her reaction to the girl definitely suggests that. Even through the haze that had obscured her memories she remembers her eyes fixating on the brunette and her pulse speeding up as all of the brunette’s attention had focused on her. Lizzie can remember how the other girl had smelt and the feeling of skin against skin. Even more, she can remember the two of them in the back of a car, where she’d pulled the brunette down on top of her. Then movement. The brunette had taken her to this room, the realization was sudden and caused a cascade of other memories.

The first in the sequence is less than pleasant, she’d have been fine never having to remember kneeling in front of the toilet and retching over and over again. The one following it was better though. Soft hands had embraced her and one of them had held her hair back as her body and tried to purge itself of all of the poison she’d imbibed. She’d always imagined having someone to support her at her weakest. This wasn’t quiet that, but it was close as she was ever going to get.

The next set of images make her question whether she was still a virgin. There was running water and the same soft hands that had comforted her earlier had begun to caress and message her. Even in the state she’s in the remembered caresses cause her pulse to race and her to almost forget the hellish shape her body is in. Thankfully even as drunk as she had been she’d had the presence of mind to turn and take in all of the beauty of the other woman.

The brunette had been stunning. Her body was leanly toned. Lizzie could clearly remember seeing the curves and outlines of hard muscles on the other girl. Remembering the soft perfect breasts clinging to the other girl’s torso and the sculpted mass of the girl’s calf muscles are enough to send a deep panging of want through Lizzie. Most importantly there was a welcome warmth in the other girl’s features.

Lizzie can’t believe she’d even temporarily forgotten such a magnificent person or that despite everything she can remember she still can’t remember her first’s name. Maybe it would come back in time but that’s the one thing Lizzie doesn’t have.

She can’t even afford to spend the time she already has in this room. She needs to salvage this mess, before her resolve fades and she can no longer do what is necessary. If she lingers here too long, she’ll risk making yet another attachment she’ll have to sever.

A voice interrupts her thoughts. It’s a male voice, but still decently high pitched. Probably a boy around her age. The voice is vaguely familiar but she’s unable to place it. The pain it causes her as it forces its way past her ears is too much to allow her to think straight.

“We can’t pass up this opportunity. You know what they keep there.”

“Are you even bothering to think before you speak? No, that’s a stupid question. You’re clearly not.” This voice is chillingly familiar. Lizzie can just barely remember hearing it the night before, soothing her and whispering reassurances in her ear. It’s the girl.

“Pen-”

“No, don’t give me that sad puppy dog face or try and make some asinine emotional blackmail about how you back my plays. This isn’t the same thing and you fucking know it. We don’t know anything. You think there is one nearby because you want there to be and you had a hard time ditching the fucking car.

“Because they were everywhere.”

“They lost a fucking squad in the bar. Maybe they were just pissed and want payback.” The girl’s, Pen she thinks, voice cuts off for a second. When Pen speaks again her voice is low and careful. “Look, I get it. You’re still hurting and I don’t blame you. If it was just about us I’d follow you know. I’d spend all day and night taking out their patrols, trying to glean a shred of actual intelligence. And if you were right, I’d go with you, even if it got me killed. But it’s not just about us. There’s her.” Lizzie is pretty sure Pen is talking about her. “We need to get her back to the Institute. That’s the job Hope gave us. And before you say it, no we can’t just leave her here. Everyone here is clearly fucking after her so we can’t just leave her unattended and helpless. Besides she’s running form the Institute, chances are we leave her be and she’ll be gone.”

Lizzie’s pulse races and it feels like her heart is smashing itself against her ribcage. Of course, she can’t do anything right. Not only had she missed her contact, but she’d managed to go home with the one person she should have fucking avoided. A member of Hope’s precious Action Squad tasked to drag her back to the Institute. And Josie.

She needs to find a way out of this. She can’t go back. Josie won’t be safe with her around. That’s all that matters. Which means she needs to calm down, immediately. Having an episode won’t help her.

She forces all thoughts from her mind and focuses on the passage of air through her nose. With each breath in she tries to hold it for several counts. She starts off with two counts and increases the number as she feels able. It takes a little time, but she has it. The two members of Hope’s ridiculously named Action Squad are still bickering in the corner.

With her breathing under control Lizzie feels her body start to relax. It becomes easier to sit and wait. As her body slows down and her heart rate becomes stable so too does her mind. It’s not always effective but the mindfulness technique the school counselor had taught her after her first Incident at the Institute had helped her to at least space out her episodes.

She knows it can’t last. Still, a few extra moments of clarity will only help her. As will another of the mindfulness techniques she was taught. It’s a visualization exercise. So she summons her goal to her mind. She needs to make contact with Triad Industries and arrange everything again. To do that she’ll need a phone and privacy.

Now the part she had a hard time with. She needed to picture each obstacle, without letting her emotions overwhelm her. The first obstacle is the two teenagers standing in the corner bickering. They aren’t going to let her make contact or leave without them. The second is Triad Industries itself. From the snippets of conversation she’s overheard, Lizzie can guess something went horribly wrong at the bar. If whoever had come to get her had been killed there was every chance Triad wouldn’t trust her and think it was a trap. Third she was in a ridiculous amount of pain. Anything physical was off the table. She’d never be able to run away from them and fighting is out, both because she sucks at it and her body is in no shape. She’s in danger of spiraling.

She tries to breathe again but it’s not working this time. All she can do is try and push past it. She can figure this out. She knows it. These problems aren’t too bad. She just needs a way to contact Triad without having to need to fight or run. Which means she’ll need to either convince her captors or sneak past them. Sneaking isn’t likely. Lizzie has already realized she’s not wearing her own clothes and unfortunately her cell phone isn’t on her. There’s no way she could get to the room phone without being noticed. So that means she needs to bide her time and find the right opportunity. There’s a slim chance that they may not know what her intentions were. If Hope had just sent them to find her maybe she could pretend to be the victim and get a few minutes to herself with her phone. Then she could contact Triad and tell them she’d been kidnapped. Maybe they would accept that. And even if they didn’t chances are the end result for her would be the same. She needs to know where she is though. It’s possible the two bickering teenagers might tell her what she needs to know if she just remains still enough.

They’re still fighting about the same thing she’s pretty sure. Though the conversation has moved some. They’ve moved onto debating logistics.

“We have no idea where it is.” It’s the girl’s voice. “You know how good they are at keeping off the grid. And if we find it what then? We have no way inside. You’ve read the same notes I have about the Processing Center’s security. We only made it in last time because you know who had codes and neither of us remember the layout or anything.”

The last part didn’t make sense. If these places were so important why wouldn’t they remember what they saw inside the last one? But that didn’t matter, because from what Lizzie could understand she was pretty sure she had a plan.

“Okay, but if we could solve those two things you’re in?”

“Yes, if we can solve those two impossible logistical issues in the next few hours, I’m in. But if not, we take Lizzie back.”

“Ok. So how are we going to solve those problems?” Lizzie has to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. The exchange couldn’t have gone better if Lizzie had planned it. All thanks to boys being useless.

“You have got to be-” Pen’s voice is shrill and disbelieving. Still it’s definitely better than Lizzie’s own. The first time she tries to speak all that emerges is a strangled croak. It takes sitting up and a few sips of water from a glass handed to her by Penelope before she can get the words out. 

“Actually, I think I can solve that. But you’re not going to like it,” Lizzie says.

 


	5. I'll Be Your Fantasy

“I hate this plan." 

Penelope tries to be patient. But it’s an uphill battle and a bitter comment slips out.

“So you’ve said, again and again.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says. It’s one comment too much. The remark is out before she even thinks about it. It’s half snarl and half attempt to get him to shut up.

“You’re the one who insisted we do this. You don’t get to fucking whine now.”

“I wanted to raid the facility. I didn’t want to send a fucking traitor into the enemy’s clutches. She’s gonna rat us out and we’ll be walking into a fucking trap.”

Penelope manages not to sigh. She knows Triad is a sore spot for MG. For both of them really. But it was worse for him. He’d lost more than she had. Penelope had lost a friend, confidante, mentor and a member of their team. MG had lost all that too, in addition to losing not only his first love, but his memory of their entire relationship as well.  

So, while his reaction to Lizzie’s news wasn’t reasonable it was entirely predictable. And annoying. For the last few hours Penelope had been forced to listen to an endless series of variants along the same theme. As grating as it was she’d been trying to reign in her natural sarcastic streak. But despite being one of her closest friends and her partner, MG had a way of working his way under her skin.

“She’s not a traitor.”

“Look I know she’s hot and you’ve got a thing for her, but you’ve got to look at the facts.”

“Okay can the patriarchal mansplaining bullshit. I’ve been patient with your nonsense long enough, but I draw the fucking line there.” A sullen silence reigns over the coms and she’s sure she pushed just a little too far. It seems she’ll have to deal with one of his sulks for the rest of the mission and probably the trip back to the institute. “She’s not a traitor. Okay.”

“Pen, look I want it to work for you, but she had Triad on speed dial. When she told them she’d been kidnapped they came running. Tell me what the hell I’m supposed to think other than she’s working with them.”

It seems she’s going to have to tell him what she’d figured out. She’s been hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. She wants desperately to be wrong. If she’s not she’s just sent Lizzie in to die. But she needs MG focused if they have a chance of pulling this off. And that is the only way all three of them have a chance of getting out alive.

“It’s SBC. Alright?”

“Suicide by Cop? What are you talking about?”

“While you were ditching the car she was babbling drunkenly. It didn’t make much sense at the time and I wrote it off. A lot of apologies and how she had to do it for her sister. And that everyone would be better off. Figured it was just the booze.

“She was trying to turn herself into those monsters. What the fuck is wrong with her?”

“I don’t know okay? But it means we can trust her. She’s getting what she wants. A chance to get herself killed without pulling the trigger herself.”

“So, this gets her where she wants to be. And we follow so we know where they’re hiding. But she has to know we won’t let her die.”

“Probably thinks we won’t be able to save her. I don’t think she gets how Triad operates. That they won’t just kill her. Not until they’ve tortured her enough to spill everything about the Institute.”

“And then they’ll erase her.” His words are mumbled but the coms are of high quality and have been enhanced by magic. She’s able to hear him clearly despite the wind whipping around him from his vantage point. “How do you know she won’t just give them what they want to get what she wants?”

“If she didn’t care about collateral damage why run all the way across the country to do this? She could have called them from any nearby town before we knew she’d run off. Seems like she’s trying to make it impossible to trace her back to us.”

“Okay fine. She’s not a traitor. Just a selfish idiot.”

This time Penelope manages to keep her thoughts inside. She doesn’t entirely disagree and she’s more than a little pissed at the blonde too. It’s selfish but the notion that the blonde would be willing to just throw everything away feels like a rejection. Still, she knows it’s not really on the blonde. 

Penelope’s not sure what the fuck happened at the institute but she’s planning to have words with Hope. If the blonde was suicidal the Doc should have caught it and they should have been treating her.

It wasn’t like Lizzie is the first witch who came to the institute looking for a permanent solution to life’s pains. It occurred often enough that Hope had insisted both her Action Squad and Penelope’s B-Team be trained in spotting the signs so they could flag for the initial psych screenings all new students when through.

It wasn’t like there was hard data but from their own records and those they’d managed to liberate from Triad over the years it seemed that witches had higher than normal incidences of depression and anxiety disorders compared to the mundane population. There were a couple of theories. One was that it was something about the ability to access magic, that maybe the brain was more likely to form a certain way if you had the capability. Penelope leaned towards the mundane answer of genetics. Often Covens shared ancestry. But given there was even less study of neuroatypicality among supernaturals than there were mundanes Penelope doubted they’d have an answer anytime soon.

She wasn’t sure if Lizzie was neuro-atypical, let alone depressed, but it was clear from the blonde’s behavior that the girl was suicidal. The binge drinking and other risky behavior Penelope had witnessed at the bar had been a clear red flag. So were the self-inflicted cuts Penelope had found when she’d been cleaning off the blonde in the shower the night before. Penelope had no doubt there were others as well. At least a few of the red flags should have been caught and Lizzie should have been in treatment.

“Pen, where’d you go?” MG’s voice is gentle. He’s trying not to startle her and she’s glad for the concern. It’s not like she doesn’t have her own history with risky behavior. It’s nice to know even with his head up his ass he’s able to think of her wellbeing.

“Just wondering why the screenings didn’t pick up any of this. It’s why they’re there.”

She knows him well enough to know he’s shrugging. He often defaults to non-verbal communication when he’s nervous. If they didn’t know each other so well it’d be terrible on missions. When the silence stretches on past his breaking point his voice comes in over the comm again.

“Look we’ll get in, get her out and you can march her straight to Doc yourself. Promise.”

She manages not to comment about his change of heart. There’s no need to be ungrateful that he’s accepting her theories on Lizzie. It’s not like they both didn’t know that people could do all sorts of unpredictable things. There was no way to be positive Lizzie hadn’t simply decided that she’d rather burn the Institute to the ground than stay there another day. So the fact that MG wasn’t voice his lingering suspicions, well that was a real enough kidness. Penelope didn’t want to think about having to hurt Lizzie.

“Speaking of it’s about time. How’s the equipment holding up.”

“Magic on the scope’s good. Can’t be sure on the barrel yet. You sure it’ll work?”

“I’m offended. You know silence spells are my jam. Which bullets are you going with?”

“Showstoppers to start. Need to get their attention after all. What were you thinking?”

“Lancers. Too much risk of them hunkering down and fortifying if they think it’s a full-scale assault. Then once you get their attention switch to Showstoppers to keep them pinned. Best case they’ll call in heavy back up.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I swear if you make another A-Team joke I will come up on that building and kick your ass.”

“Now why would a proud member of the B-Team do that? You vastly underestimate my team pride.”

“Just get to work asshole.”

The silence that follows is the only answer she needs. MG always falls silent when he takes aim. His incredible focus is what makes him their long-range specialist. Sure, the enhanced senses that are part of being a vampire don’t hurt. Nor does the ability to stop breathing so he can still the shot. But it’s the ability to drown out everything else except relevant details as he lines up his shot that makes him deadly.

At that moment, while she lurks in her rental watching the nondescript office building where the locater spell she’d placed on Lizzie’s watch was emanating from, she knows he’s identified one of the Triad patrols and is calculating his trajectories.

She knows he’s taken the first shot when agents rush towards the car she’s been watching. He’s taken at least two more shots by the time the car peels away from the curb. Another two cars surge from out of the narrow ramp leading to the building’s underground parking structure.

It takes a minute to whip up the glamour she needs for the next part.

“You in yet?” MG’s voice is emotionally void. He’s in the zone and that is more comforting than any emotion she could have heard there. 

“Going down the ramp now. How’re things going on your end?” 

“Taken down five of them and got one wounded to call in more backup.”

“Well at least three suvs are on the way.”

“Well they’ll have company. There’s another three that just pulled up.”

“How hot is your position?”

“Scorching. Gotta give them this, they’re not completely stupid. Pulled up on both sides of the building. I couldn’t get them all. I’ve got six who made it into the stairwell and your three SUVs just pulled up.”

“You good?”

“Yeah. just gonna relocate. Leap a building in a single bound. Y’know superhero shit.”

“Okay, going into the building now. Just try not to get yourself killed.”

“Same to you.”

"That's the plan," she muttered. And hopefully, just this once things would actually go according to plan.


	6. I Will Be Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter. Josie and Hope will be back, but likely not for a few chapters. In the meantime some character development for Lizzie.

Chapter 6: I Will Be Strong

 

“I already told you I’m not giving up anything. Just put a bullet in my head and let’s be done here. Or were you going to torture me first?”

The agent just smiles at her. The sight of his white teeth and relaxed posture is more disturbing than anything she’s seen so far in the complex. Lizzie isn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, but this isn’t it.

The majority of the interior she’s seen so far is indistinguishable from any office space she’d seen on tv. There were filing cabinets and cubicles scattered everywhere. She’s not entirely sure why a secret evil organization that hunted and killed supernaturals like her has so much paperwork and she frankly doesn’t care. All she wants is to get down to business. If that meant she had to sit in a small open-air cubicle and talk to some bureaucrat to prove she was an evil supernatural creature then so be it. Of course it hadn’t been that simple.

It had started promising enough. She’d been escorted by the strike team that had ‘rescued her from the kidnappers who’d abducted her from the bar, killing the team sent there to meet her in the process and then tied her up and left her unsupervised in a hotel room long enough for her to wriggle to the landline and call for help’ to a small cubicle with a smiling bureaucrat stationed at it. The strike commander had once again applauded her cunning and bravery in managing to get the room phone despite being restrained before taking his leave. She still couldn’t believe he’d bought the lies. Once the commander was gone, the agent sitting behind the desk had introduced himself, Robert, and then asked her a few base questions: name, age, sex and case number. She’d repeated the same lies she’d rehearsed a thousand times, except for the case number which she thankfully didn’t need to lie about. It was hard enough memorizing the twelve digit number. She’d be completely screwed if she had to make one up. He’d just smiled and checked off more boxes. Then he’d started asking questions about her family, which she’d refused to answer. So he’d provided the answers himself. Correct answers. It had become clear what he wanted when he started asking about where she’d been for the last month after leaving mystic falls. He was after the Institute.

As far as she’s concerned he could wait till they both died of old age. She wasn’t going to let some supernatural exterminators anywhere near her sister or the school that made Josie happy.

After she’d refused to answer his questions he’d just smiled again and stood. Then he’d asked her to follow him. She had, every step brought her closer to what she wanted. Certain death.

They’d made their way to an elevator bank and then rode in silence. The doors had chimed open and she’d found herself walking into a small sterile white corridor. The walls on each side were a solid white and unremarkable except each had a small slit about even with her chest. At least the first half of the corridor did. After they had passed a seemingly invisible marker the walls became solid. A glance at the ceiling told her that there was a small nozzle at the top. It may have just been part of some fire suppression system, but her gut warned her otherwise.

They had continued walking until they’d left the corridor and entered a small room. It had a console in it and the wall behind the counsel was made of a frosted glass.

Clearly, he was trying to intimidate her and equally clearly he had no idea who he was dealing with. She wasn’t going to tolerate his bullshit. So she made it clear. Unfortunately, he seemed less than impressed. That same stupid smug smile is still on his face.

“So melodramatic Ms. Saltzman. There’s no need for that. We’re on the same side after all.”

She actually laughs at that. Which surprises him enough that his careful façade cracks and he loses the smile for a second before he manages to recover. Which only cheers her up further.

“Hardly. I’m a witch and you kill witches.” Her smile is genuine, and it only grows brighter as his eyes widen. “Which is the only reason I came to sociopath central. So if you’re not going to kill me then I have other things to do.”

He ignores her in favor of twisting her words.

“I protect innocent people from dangerous monsters. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do? Protect your family from someone dangerous? That institute you’re protecting they’re the sociopaths. They harbor dangerous monsters with no regard to the people who will become their victims.”

“You sound like a bigot. Werewolves are people too.” She’s not entirely sure why she’s stooping to mocking him. It’s not like she should care what his views are. She’s there to get killed, not make new friends. She really shouldn’t care who pulls the trigger. Still since he’s being uncooperative she’s not concerned with keeping him happy either. The return of his smile warns her that she’s played into his hands.

“I thought you might say that. Which is why I brought us here for a little demonstration. Say hello to Landon and Raphael, Lizzie.”

His hand presses a button on the panel in front of him. The wall in front of them suddenly changes. The frosted glass slowly clears until she can see what’s in the room beyond. There’s two guys about her age sitting in the room. One’s white and the other’s black. The black one is handsome, all lean muscles, but he reminds her too much of the jocks her sister dates. The ones who tormented her constantly for being a spaz and a freak. The boy sharing the small cell is more her type. He’s a little awkward, his hair unkempt and his clothing not entirely fitting his frame. He’s definitely her type.

“He’s cute isn’t he? Raphael, I mean. You’d never know he was a murderer. Killed his girlfriend with a car crash. And then when they tried to help him, he ripped his parents apart. And a priest. Do you want to see the footage Lizzie? See how sympathetic he really is?”

It’s not really a question. Before the words have even reached Lizzie’s ears he’s already struck another button and the scene begins playing on one of the small monitors nearby. She wants to look away, to anywhere else. Even the horrific smile on the agent’s face would be preferable than the images she’s transfixed by.

It takes every iota of resilience she possess not to break down into tears. But not for the reason the cruel asshole leering next to her assumes. It’s not the parents or the priest that Lizzie’s heart breaks for. It’s Raphael.

The footage is grainy, shot from some ancient security camera squirreled away in a corner of the church. But she can see enough. Raphael is in chains. The priest is chanting over him and splashing water on him. His supposed parents are lashing him with some form of whip. A dreadful weight settles into her stomach as she watches the priest press a cross against Raphael’s forehead and his lips move as if he is praying. She’s watching an exorcism or some similar barbaric ritual. It’s like something from her nightmares, only it isn’t her sister being subject to it because Lizzie had failed to keep herself in check. It’s some stranger betrayed by his parents.

She’s relieved when his bones start to shift and his skin gives way to fur. The feelings of relief only grown when he rips free of the chains and turns upon his tormentors. The carnage that follows feels justified. Like G-d himself had arranged it to punish the travesty committed in His name. As does the destruction of the church, though she can only see some of it. And then the screen goes dark.

“Horrific thing to do to your parents and a man of the cloth. But what do we expect from a savage monster. Oh yes, I promised you a demonstration didn’t it?” His voice causes the same sensation as having to listen to her father’s nails dragging down a chalkboard does. “I’m sure you’re thinking it’s an accident, that he would never do it again. But you’re wrong. It’s in his nature. He’ll kill again and again. Which I’ll prove to you with the assistance of young Landon here.”

Though she knows she should refuse to play whatever game is occurring, her eyes are drawn back to the two teens. Goosebumps assault her skin and a sweat that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room begins to stain her shirt. A dreadful feeling of predictability sneaks up. She knows what’s going to happen. But there’s nothing she can do. They’re on a one-way track and the end of the line is a brick wall.

“Our good friend Landon is like you. He’s convinced himself that there’s something worth saving in this monster despite all of the evidence to the contrary. But that’s not the point. The point is Landon here has given up everything to help Raphael. Left his home, his school and life behind. For the last month Landon here has been on the run too, resorting to stealing and lying to keep them both alive. And he’s done a pretty good job of it. Made it all the way out here before we caught them. Now I’d say that choosing Raphael over the moral good makes him a pretty good friend. And sacrificing everything makes him a devoted friend. Probably the best friend a teenager could have. But do you think that matters to this monster? I don’t. Let me prove it to you.”

His hands are moving over the counsel again. It’s all she can do not to scream and launch herself at him. She manages to hold herself back. Losing her shit won’t help anyone. Besides she shouldn’t care. She’s just here to die. If the sinking feeling in her gut is right she’ll get that chance soon, even if it’s at the end of claws instead of a bullet.

“Normally we’d have to wait for a full moon. Thankfully I have a little item we confiscated from a witch in Louisiana. It’s said to contain the full power of the moon. I wonder how it will affect Raphael here.” He strikes a series of keys again and this time a compartment in the ceiling of the cell opens and a soft blue light fills the room. The effect is immediate. Raphael groans in pain and falls to his knees. She can see his bones starting to crack and move as the change grips him. Panic floods her and finally spurs her into movement. She can’t just watch this. She has to do something. She spins to the agent, her voice cracking as she pleads.

“Stop this. He’ll kill him!”

“Surely not. If you’re right and werewolves aren’t dangerous monsters surely Raphael won’t hurt his very best friend who risked everything for him? Of course if you’ve just been lying to yourself, well you know how to end this.”

“Fuck you.” It’s not witty but she’s shaken more than she wants to admit. That awful certainty in her gut is growing. Unless she tells him what he wants to know he’ll force her to watch Raphael tear apart his best friend. And then he’ll make her watch as he puts Raphael down. And he’ll try again and again with other innocent people until she breaks.

He doesn’t bother to respond to her. His silence and smile says it all. He want her to know what’s coming. He thinks the knowledge will be enough to break her. He’s betting that while she doesn’t care what happens to her, that she won’t be able to watch someone else die. He’s not wrong. She’s made peace with the fact that she needs to die. For Josie. But no one else is supposed to get hurt. That’s the entire reason she’s doing this. One death and her sister is safe. Everything she’d done was to avoid collateral damage. She’d even gone to the step of contacting Triad so she wouldn’t be forced to commit suicide which she wasn’t sure her father could recover from.

It’s not exactly the same with Raphael and Landon. She’s not the cause and she has no responsibility for them. Still she can’t just watch this. Watch the two of them die for no reason. A growing knot of anger is forming in her chest. Raphael isn’t the monster. He’s the victim. He can’t help that he was born with a curse, or that his sick parents decided to torture him on a full moon. No, neither Raphael or Landon deserve to die. She needs to stop this, no matter the cost.

Only, she’s paralyzed. Her throat won’t move and her mind is both racing and blank, like a skipping record. Panic is building and she can feel her throat closing and desperation taking over every part of her. She recognizes the signs. It’s the start of an episode. It won’t help but she has no choice. There’s nothing she can do about it. There’s nothing she can do about any of it. She’s entirely helpless.

Tears burn at the edges of her ears as frustration pools in the pit of her stomach like a poison. She is so sick of being helpless. She’s been helpless her entire life, at the mercy of her defective brain. She always tried to be good but she just wasn’t built right. Despite her best efforts fear and anxiety would build within her until she couldn’t breathe unless she let it spill out. And then she’d be a useless mess who put her loved ones in danger.

Just once she needs it to be different. She needs to be able to do something, anything to stop this. But she has no options. He’s twice her size and has at least hundred pounds on her. And he’s probably trained in combat.

Without a source of magic to drain she’s just another teenage girl. And even if she did have something to drain it’s not like she knew any spells to channel it. The best she’d be able to do is let it spill from her and hope it knocked him out.

Raphael’s continuing to change before her eyes. He’s on all fours now and his eyes have become a molten yellow. His skin is starting to crack and change, giving way to fur. Landon doesn’t have long.

She clutches helplessly at the bauble hanging around her neck. It’s a nervous tick, but her hands need something to distract them. As her fingers wrap around the blue orb she feels a sudden warmth in the palm of her hand.

She’s such a fucking idiot. She can’t believe she’d forgotten. The tracker Penelope had given her to make sure the they wouldn’t lose her when the agents ‘rescued her’ from the motel room and brought her to their base was powered by magic. It’s not much, just a trace amount. Only enough for a single burst. And if it came out like the one at the school, which she still can’t remember, at most she’d be able to make a few lights flicker. But maybe, just maybe if she tried to focus it she could do something useful.

It’s not like she has another choice. She closes her eyes and tries to regulate her breathing. She can’t afford any distractions. The agent probably thinks she’s trying to hide from the reality of what’s in front of her. She’s reasonably sure that closing her eyes wouldn’t do her any good on that front. The sounds would be vivid and horrific. Which is why she has to get this right. She needs to make sure that she’s never forced to hear them.

The magic flows from the charm and into her body. She can feel it pulsing inside her. It’s not much but it’s there. Her eyes flash open and she’s acting without thinking. The power flows into her hand and out in a focused burst. It slams into the agent and slams him tumbling to the floor.

She rushes to the console. It’s a jumbled mix of keys she doesn’t recognize. She has no way to figure out how to seal off the enchanted stone and there’s not time to figure it out. But there is a button labeled release and there’s a small door connecting the cell to the room she’s in.

An idea pops into her head. Panic spurs her on. It’s her only chance. She punches the button down as hard as she can and starts running. The agent is on his feet and a gunshot fills the small room. And then another and another. Lizzie knows she’s not fast enough to dodge the bullets, but thankfully he’s still disoriented and his aim is off. The bullets crash into the walls around her and she’s able to make it inside the cell.

The door closes behind her. The agent is back at the console and he’s glaring at her through the translucent wall.  

“If you want to die that badly, fine, let the mongrel tear you apart.”

Her gamble has paid off. She’d bet that he’d be to afraid of releasing Raphael to risk continuing to shoot the wall, or to trigger the release and come in after her. Which means now she only has to worry about the werewolf transforming inches from her. When she turns back to face him her heart leaps into her throat.

Raphael has finished transforming. He’s turned around and facing her. His lips are pulled back into a snarl and his limbs are tensed and ready to pounce. He’s airborne before she can react. His heavy weight slams into her and knocks her to the floor. Her hands tangle in his fur and she desperately leeches the magic fueling the transition.

There’s a lot there and it’s taking too long. With every moment that passes she’s positive she will feel teeth tearing into and rending her flesh. But the pain never comes. There’s only power flowing into her.

It’s like nothing she’s ever felt. Her entire body feels warm, as if she is leeching more than just the magic from him. It’s almost as if she’s stealing the very thing that keeps him alive. As he sags under the effects of her ability she feels the opposite. All of the strength leaving him is funneling into her.

She’s felt a small spark the few times she’s drained spells before, but it’s nothing like this. In her entire life she can’t recall even a single moment where she’d felt like this. Not even when the liquor had first begun to take affect the night before and she felt like she could do anything. Now it’s not a feeling. It’s a deep-seated knowledge. She knows she can do anything. The raw power coursing through her is incredible. And there’s still more.

She continues to pull from him. She’s not entirely surprised when the weight pinning her to the ground lessens and the body above her shifts. There’s a different quality to the energy now. She lacks the vocabulary to describe it, but still she can tell it’s not the same.  

She stops only when the body on top of hers is fully human. A fully naked human. The clothes he had been wearing had been shredded during his transformations. What little was still on him couldn’t cover anything. It certainly wasn’t enough to cover the soft spongy flesh she could feel pressing against the fabric covering her crotch.

Heat blossomed across her face and her heart sped up. There was no way she wasn’t blushing. Thankfully she didn’t die of embarrassment. She’d been humiliated before, but having a naked boy lying on top of her was new. Especially a hot one.

Thankfully his boyfriend is there to help. Landon pulls the barely conscious teenager off of her and she does her best not to glance at the flesh hanging between Raphael’s legs. She fails horribly. Even soft she’s pretty sure it’s an impressive size. Landon’s a lucky guy.

In what might be a desperate attempt to not pay any more attention to the naked hot guy and the fact that she was clearly ogling him in front of his most likely serious and devoted boyfriend, she tries to focus on the task at hand. Despite that, she feels a twinge of jealousy as she clambers back to her feet. Just once it would be nice to have someone who cared enough to run away with her in a desperate attempt to keep her safe.

The power surging and pulsing inside her cuts her pity party short. It’s too much. She won’t be able to contain it for long. And if it discharges all at once she could very well kill the people she’s trying to save. So she needs to start burning it off.

Thankfully, there’s an easy target for the excess energy. They need out of the cage. She’s not sure how long Raphael will remain barely conscious and unable to transform. So they need to get him away from the enchanted stone before it wears off. Otherwise the situation will be lose-lose. She’d have to choose between letting Raphael tear them to shreds or discharging the power she’d stole at him and hope it wasn’t enough to kill him.

No. It was better to focus that power on the glass and remove the concern. Whatever the wall was made of, she’s sure it’s no glass she’s ever heard of. It takes three bursts to shatter and then she’s forced to release another at the agent. He’s reaching for some button on the console. She’s not in time to stop him. But she does prevent him from getting a shot off with the gun he has raised in his other hand.

The sound he makes when the blast strikes him and when his body hits the far wall would normally make her cringe. But she can’t focus on that. She needs to keep the power contained or she’ll risk doing the same to Landon and Raphael.

When the agent doesn’t stir, she realizes she’ll need to make sure he’s down and not faking. It’s difficult to walk and keep the power contained, but somehow she makes do. Once she gets to him though she almost loses control.

Even her untrained eye can tell he’s dead. His chest is still and there’s a growing pool of blood where his head rests upon the ground. And there’s no screaming. The way his limbs are twisted he’d be in agony.

There’s not time to deal with the implications of what she’s done. The alarm is blaring and if they don’t get moving all of this will be in vain. Unfortunately, when she turns back to tell Landon to follow her she finds he’s not ready. He’s released Raphael and the other boy is laying dazed on the floor. She bites back a curse and tries to get them moving with a simple direction.

“Grab your boyfriend and let’s get out of here.”

It doesn’t have the effect she’d hoped. Instead of complying his face scrunches up as if he’s the one standing over a corpse, the scent of copper filling his nose. His words confirm that she’s not misreading him.

“What no, gross. Why would you think he’s my boyfriend?”

She doesn’t have time for this nonsense. None of them do. And yet the words irritate her enough to provoke a reaction.

“Oh lord save me from teenage boys and their low grade machismo fueled homophobia. You gave up everything and fled across the country to keep him safe from a shadowy organization that was trying to kill you both because he’s a supernatural creature. Not something you do for just a friend.”

“I’m not homophobic. Just y’know the idea of me and Raph…”

He trails off as she stares at him. She really doesn’t have the energy to deal with his attempted cover up. It’s taking too much of her focus to keep the power she’d absorbed from bursting out of her in a single massive blast. What he says next almost shakes her focus enough to ensure that happens.

“He’s my brother.”

Her eyes flick between the two teenage boys. She’s sure her expression must convey her thoughts pretty precisely because he fills the void.

“We’re both foster kids. We’ve been through a number of bad homes together. He’s the only family I have.”

“Ok, fine. I take it back. It’s a fair reaction. I’d say the same about my sister. Let’s focus on getting him out of here alive okay? Now grab him and let’s go.”

This time he finally complies. He loops one of the half conscious boy’s arms around his shoulders and helps steady Raphael. Seeing that the two are squared away she turns back to the sealed door in front of them.

“Okay. I’m gonna bet we’ve triggered all sorts of alarms and there’s at least one strike team in here. So stay behind me and try and keep up okay?” 

“But how are we going to-” She doesn’t hear the end of the question. It’s drowned out by the sound of metal tearing and shattering as the blast of pure magic energy she’s released slams into the sealed door. The sound even drowns out the blaring alarm for a brief but amazing second. There’s not time to savor the blissful silence though. They need to keep moving.

What’s left of the door is strewed across the floor of the corridor she’d walked down a short while ago. About halfway down the hall there’s something new. A large metal wall now cuts off the second half of the hallway. It’s probably a failsafe in case one of the prisoners ever got loose. She’s not sure if the intention is to delay or to trap but either way she’s not going to let it stop her. 

But first things first. She glances upwards again and focuses on the nozzle she’d noticed before. She smiles with satisfaction as the metal tears and ruptures as the blast flowing from her hand strikes it. Hopefully it’s enough to render whatever surprise it stored a non-issue.

Only once she’s sure no gas is spilling into the corridor does she turn her attention to the steel barrier. She has to admit it’s an impressive one. It’s much thicker and more resilient than the door she’d torn through seconds before. It takes a few releases of the energy she has stored but eventually she’s able to create a large enough hole for them to pass.

She leads the way and only the adrenaline and power coursing through her keep her alive. There’s a burst of sound and bullets are streaming towards her. She reacts on instinct and a wave of stolen power washes out from her. It shatters the incoming bullets and, from the muffled explosions she can hear, passes through the slits and destroys whatever mechanisms lay behind the walls.

The last obstacle is the elevator doors and whatever lays behind them. Even from where she stands she can see the numbers on the panel display slowly counting up, towards the floor she’s on. Which means something’s waiting for them in the rapidly ascending elevator car.  

Whatever it is, she knows it’ll be up to her to handle it. Raphael is only seconds from dropping back into unconsciousness and while Landon is far more alert, not only is he just a normal human but it’s clear it’s taking everything he has just to support his brother. There’s no way Landon will be able to react quickly to anything.

The doors open slowly and she grits her teeth and prepares for what she’ll find waiting for her. 


	7. All That You Need Will Surely Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter at last. It's been hard to find time to write but I'm still working on each of my active stories. We're nearing the end of this action sequence which will be a relief. I'm reasonably sure that action scenes are not my forte so I hope you will bear with the awkward descriptions and cheesy action movie style dialogue a little longer.

Penelope only knows a resigned sigh has escaped her lips because of the feeling in her throat and chest. The actual sound is lost among the din. With the alarm practically deafening her and the emergency lights flashing bright enough to be disorienting, she knows that once again the plan has gone to shit. Typical. At this point she really is just fooling herself by thinking any other outcome is possible. Still, just once it would be nice if things went according to the fucking plan. It has to be possible, because Hope’s plans went off without a hitch nine times out of ten. Penelope is only asking for one damn time.

Specifically this time. If ever there was a day that needed to go smoothly with no surprises, bumps or thinking on her feet it was this day. Unfortunately, it seemed she wasn’t allowed to have even a single nice day. A simple in and out that was all she wanted. But of course nothing was ever easy.

She’s not even sure what went wrong. The most elaborate part of the plan had gone smoothly. Lizzie had managed to sell that she’d been kidnapped and had managed to sneak a call for help. Then the idiots had come and taken the blonde from the empty hotel room and drove straight back to their base, completely unaware that Penelope was following the energy signature of the enchanted pendant she’d given Lizzie. With that part handled the rest should have been child’s play. And it had been. At first.

MG’s distraction had worked like a charm. Once he’d opened fire on one of their roaming patrols, the response had been almost immediate. A caravan of black cars had streamed from garage and made their way further and further from the branch headquarters. Penelope had lost contact with him once she’d entered the facility proper, but his last communication left her feeling he had it well in hand.

Her infiltration had gone just as well. With the majority of the complex’s security forces out, what staff remained were too preoccupied with other tasks to focus on her entry. With a glamour covering her, she’d had little trouble passing for one of them. She’d been able to move around inside freely.

Getting access to the secure records room that was her target wasn’t much harder. She’d managed to locate an agent with access easily enough. A little lite flirting later and a few deft hand movements and she had a key card that would grant her access to the secured records room and an excuse to be there.

She’d even managed to locate and copy or steal what she’d needed without a single soul entering the room. It had all gone so smoothly and before she’d known it, all that was left was to go collect Lizzie. Which of course was where things started going wrong. 

Finding the blonde inside the structure should have been simple. Penelope had had the foresight to prepare for this moment after all. Using a charm she’d learned at the Institute it had been simple enough to enchant an otherwise innocuous necklace they’d managed to find at a street vendor and turn it into a tracking beacon. Buying it had actually been fun, for a second it had felt like she and Lizzie had been out on a date, before the reality had set back in. Still, it was worth the momentary disappointment, as it meant she had a link to the blonde. It was that link that had made it so easy to find Triad’s base and it was that link that would make it easy enough to find Lizzie even in this massive building.

Only the link had vanished. She’d made it approximately halfway to the elevator before realizing she could no longer feel the beacon. Her steps picked up speed until she was running through the room, the messenger bag containing the files she’d stolen banging against her hip with each step forward. Anxiety had started to churn in her gut, which only increased when the alarm had started blaring. The sensory bombardment was almost enough to make her forget her rising panic. The combination of light and noise pollution left her reeling from the assault on her senses. By the time she’d grown used enough to the sensory bombardment that it started to fade into the background she’d reached the end of the hall.

As much as she wanted to run straight to the last location Lizzie’s beacon had been, it’s not a option. She’s forced to wait for the elevator to return to the floor. There isn’t any other way off the floor. It’s a security measure that she suddenly appreciates the effectiveness of. All they would need to do to prevent access to or escape from this room is shut down the elevator or deactivate the stolen key card which she needs to swipe to get the elevator to come to the floor she’s on.

The fact that the card still works combined with Lizzie’s tracker vanishing is enough for Penelope to know that she’s not the reason for alarm’s tireless clamor.  A cold clammy feeling takes root in her stomach. Lizzie had to be in danger. Something must have gone wrong and they now thought of the blonde as a threat.

Which is pretty much a worst case scenario. A homicidal paramilitary group and a suicidal teenager was a pairing that lead Penelope’s imagination down a dark path. It would be the perfect chance for Lizzie to get what she wanted, promises to the contrary be damned.

There’s still hope though. The alarm is still blaring. Which can only mean they haven’t dealt with Lizzie yet. Otherwise, they would have shut the infernal thing off. So, if Penelope is quick enough, she might just be able to salvage this fucked up situation. If only the infernal elevator would fucking come already.

Her eyes are fixated on the small squares at the top, watching as each one illuminates only once the elevator reaches that floor. It feels like the elevator’s steady climb has continued for an eternity. The entire time, her imagination runs rampant, serving up a seemingly endless list of scenarios that Lizzie could be facing. Which isn’t helpful. Not only is surrendering to the increasingly disturbing thoughts just getting her heart rate up and turning every breath into an act of labor, it’ll hinder her ability to actually respond in real time as situations arose.

That was the secret to her and MG’s success. The one that only Hope had ever understood and even then only as an intellectual matter. You had to keep things loose, react to the now and work with what you had.

Sure, plans were great ahead of time, when you had plenty of time to think and had all of the facts on hand. Forming a plan under those conditions could make sure there were no unforced errors and that everyone was on the same page going into a situation. And if you were lucky it all worked out and everything went smoothly. But even the best plan was useless once things started to go to shit.

But plans were worse than useless once the ball got rolling. In the thick of things there’s too many variables to account for. Unknown variables that that would by their very nature render any strategic thinking useless.

Her current situation in an example. Sure she could have a plan in case anyone hostile in in the elevator. She could hide off to the side, perhaps behind a desk or in a conference room with frosted glass. But doing so could just as easily get her killed as give her an advantage. Sure, if she tried to hide maybe she’d be able to get the jump on any agents in the elevator. But if the agents already knew she was present she could be limiting her ability to target them while doing nothing to reduce their ability to shoot her.

In that way her missed tests that first Hope’s father and, now, Mr. Saltzman always insisted she make up whenever she got back to the school held relevance to her life. You could, and should prepare for them, but once the paper was in front of you all you can do is focus on the situation before you and try and do your best with what you have. Panic and anxiety over what may be happening will only keep her from focusing on the reality at hand. And that will get her killed. Which means no one will be around to stop Lizzie from getting the ending she wants.

Penelope has no intention of letting that happen. So, she knows she needs to make it through this. Which means she needs to amazon up and be the badass she is always telling Hope she is.

First step is a few deep breaths to get her heart rate back to where she needs it. Then she makes a note that she owes MG a soda, since the mindfulness course he’d insisted they take together for team building had finally paid off. Then she pulls out three knives.  

Unlike the ones she’d used in the bar these are metal and fairly plain looking. They’re little more than sharpened points with just enough handle that she has something to safely hold. Once she has all three loose she reaches into the padded pocket of her jacket and pulls out the reinforced metal tube there. It’s a few seconds work to pull off the cap and disengage the safety mechanisms so that the mister is operational. She gives a quick squirt to each blade and then proceeds to resecure the cylinder. Then it’s a simple matter of moving one of the blades to her free hand. Now she’s as ready as she can be for the doors to open.

The acrid scent of the concoction hits her nose and forces a tear from her eyes. She hates the smell, but she’d be a fool to let that stop her from using an advantage. Especially in the heart of enemy territory. 

She’d rather use a spelled blade, but she can’t be sure she’ll have time to recover them. Unlike MG’s bullets the enchantments on her throwing knives would survive being used. The last thing she wants to do is give Trinity a chance to study their enchantments. So it meant they were an absolute last resort on this mission. Hopefully the little equalizer she’d just used would render all of this moot.

She knows it’s just the standard nerves. Adrenaline is pumping through her system and her fight or flight system is taking over. She’s as ready as she can be. She just needs to wait for something to react to.

It’s at least another minute of waiting before she gets her wish. For a secret facility belonging to an organization with, as far as she can tell, nearly unlimited funds, the elevator is terribly slow.

When the number of the floor she’s on finally illuminates she wants to move. Anything to use up the storage of energy coursing through her. But she can’t afford to. She needs information to act, otherwise she might be making herself more vulnerable. 

It takes an eternity for the doors to begin to open. She’s not ready for what she finds inside. As her brain attempts to process the sight before her the knife falls from her slack fingers and clatters against the ground. But that’s not the sound that penetrates the shock numbing her mind. All she can hear is the voice coming from the elevator. It’s familiar and instantly soothing. Which is strange given she’s only heard it a few times before.

The tension bleeds from Penelope’s limbs and her shoulders fall as her body relaxes. Relief washes over Penelope like a cleansing wave. Lizzie is still breathing. Alive and well and giving orders to two strange boys Penelope hadn’t seen before. Or really just one of the boys. The other is slumped over, barely conscious. He’s resting the entirety of his weight on the white kid with curly hair and a nervous grunt. Penelope’s not sure if he’s about to keel over or pass out but either way he’s a liability.

“Thank G-d.” The words slip out from Penelope’s mouth. She’s positive she must be blushing. Which is mortifying enough. Worse is that Lizzie clearly hears her. The blonde gives her a smirk that sends an entirely different kind of shiver racing through her. It’s not much of an escape but Penelope walks forward, and joins the three teenagers on the elevator. At least it means she can’t keep watching that slight quirk to Lizzie’s lips that is making her nervous in an entirely different way. Her eyes fixate on the metal of the doors as they slide closed. Unfortunately, Lizzie isn’t letting her off the hook that easily.

“Get what you came for?” Lizzie’s voice is teasing and Penelope has to struggle to keep focused.

“Yeah,” Penelope says, her eyes darting to the canvas bag at her side. “Time to get out of here. Who are they?”

“Raphael,” Lizzie starts, while pointing at the young black man slumped over the second teen’s shoulder. “He’s a recently activated werewolf.  And then we have Landon, his brother.”

“Okay. So Raphael’s hit? How bad is it? Does he need triage?”

“What? No, he’ll be fine. Don’t think we have time for the details though. We can get into it later.” 

Penelope was going to argue, the information might be important after all, especially if what had done that to him was some weapon Triad had developed, but the universe is on Lizzie’s side. The display at the top of the car has just changed to the lobby and the car jerks to a halt. The doors begin to open, forcing her to focus on the potential danger looming in wait for them. She tries to push herself in front of Lizzie, but the blonde’s hand against her thigh makes it clear that isn’t acceptable. She’ll just have to trust that the blonde would hold true to her word until they were out of there and that this wasn’t a last ditch effort to end it all.

The first shots ring out before the door is open wide enough for Penelope to even see the goons waiting for them. Most of the slugs crash against the metal doors and exterior wall of the elevator, their attacker’s impatience providing at least a small benefit. But the doors are still opening and the bullets keep coming. Eventually one of them is going to get in even if it’s by accident.

Lizzie is on it though. The blonde steps forward so that she is the only thing protecting them as their metal shield continues to shrink as the doors open. Penelope doesn’t even have time to fully process what is happening before the blonde makes her move. The brunette feels pressure and moving air and then a wave of concentrated power. Her jaw goes slaw and her eyes remain open as she watches a wave of pure magical force explode out from in front of Lizzie. It shatters the metal bullets coming towards them, reducing each round to little more than metallic dust.

The assholes who’d tried to kill them fair just as poorly. The wave loses none of its force by the time it connects with where they have stationed themselves halfway across the lobby. When the wave hits them they are sent tumbling away like dolls caught in a child’s tantrum. Even though she can’t hear the sounds over the deafening noise of the magic tearing the air itself she can has no illusions about just how hard they are flung backwards. Those unlucky enough to collide with a marble wall or column don’t get up again. From the angles they land in, Penelope knows they won’t be getting up again. The lucky few who were only knocked down to the hard floor are only slightly better off. All three of those men are slow to regain their footing, the force of the blast and the following impact clearly enough to batter them and fill them with mind numbing pain.

A pain Penelope ends for them. She steps around Lizzie and flicks her wrist three times. With each flick a knife flies free. Each knife finds its target, sinking into the flesh of the would be killers. One of the blades hits home in a heart, for the other two the cuts are deep enough for the poison to enter their blood streams. All three men drop to the floor lifeless and the four teenagers are alone again.

“So what now?” one of the boys asks. She thinks it’s Landon, but she wasn’t really paying attention when Lizzie was doing the introductions. Her mind had been too overwhelmed finding the other girl unharmed. “How do we get out of here?”

“They’ll have the garage I came in from sealed off,” she responds. “It’s their basic protocol. Our best bet is going to be the main doors and hope we can find a ride to steal on the street. If we’re lucky MG’s kept the bulk of their local forces busy and this was all they had onsite and we can get out of here easily.”

They aren’t lucky. Two more goons burst out of a stairwell as the small group tries to make it across the lobby. They may have just been able to run for it if Landon didn’t need to drag his only slightly conscious brother.

Penelope manages to get one with a knife, but her other throw is wide and the bastard is faster than his friend. He jerks out of the way and before she can react his pistol is lined up with her body. Her eyes lock with his. She doesn’t have time to pull another knife and they both know it. His face twists into a sadistic grin as he goes to squeeze the trigger. As he squeezes the trigger with all his might another wave of force bursts from Lizzie. This one is more focused than the previous one and strikes him with the force of a pile driver. His body jerks and then he suddenly he is thrown from his feet. But Lizzie isn’t done. Another blast catches him in midair. It’s strong enough to fling him clear across the lobby and through the plate glass windows by the entrance. The glass shatters and he continues flying. 

“Whoa.” Landon’s voice reminds Penelope that the boy is still there. Her eyes roll at the young man’s exclamation, though he isn’t wrong. Lizzie is a force to be reckoned with. Penelope can count on one hand the number of witches she’s met who could harness and focus that type of raw power into a so potent a spell so quickly.  Though, Penelope has no idea where the blonde could have learned combat magic like that. She was pretty sure Hope had told her that the twins had spent their entire lives trying to pass for normal humans and that neither of their living parents were witches.

  
She’ll have to ask Lizzie later. There isn’t time now. It’s only a matter of time before enemy reinforcements arrive. Their patrols would eventually have to realize MG was just trying to keep them distracted and race back. Thankfully, Penelope and the others would be long gone.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Her voice sounds harsher than she would like. She doesn’t risk looking back to see how Lizzie’s responding to the curt tone. It’s not like the blonde isn’t impressive. She is, there’s just no time to be distracted. Though, the mere idea of the blonde being insulted by her words distracts her more than Penelope is ready to process at the moment. It also doesn’t help her attention that Lizzie has moved to her side.

“You alright? That was close.” The blonde’s voice is a whisper and it’s thick with what Penelope thinks must be concern. Her first instinct is to snap back, to try and smooth over the still raw terror by being strong. The look in the blonde’s eyes quells that impulse. What emerges from between the brunette’s lips is instead heart felt and more vulnerable than it should be.

“Too close. You definitely saved me.” The slight smile that flashes across Lizzie’s face is reward enough for Penelope’s uncomfortable honesty. The brunette witch only allows herself the briefest smile in return before refocusing on the task at and. “But we’re not done yet.”

“So what’s our play, just go through the lobby doors and hope there’s no more ambushes?”

A small chuckle ripples from Penelope. Well at least Lizzie is perceptive.

“Sadly I think it’s our only play. The longer we stay here the more screwed we get.” The words are out before Penelope can stop them. She hadn’t meant to scare the blonde. Though it turned out she needn’t have worried. She wasn’t the only one who would be dining on foot.

“Well I certainly don’t want to get screwed on the first date, so let’s get to it then.”

It was all Penelope could do not to smile at the blush that filled Lizzie’s face as the blonde heard her own words. With a sheepish smile the two teens stepped over the broken glass of the shattered window and into the still night air.

**Author's Note:**

> So first I want to thank everyone who leaves a comment or a kudos. While I don't generally respond I do read and really appreciate the positive feed back you all have left on this and my other stories.
> 
> One comment I often get is inquiries into updates. Unfortunately I don't have much of a schedule. I write when I can and since my work is inconsistent and fairly all consuming during heavy periods I never know when I'll actually have a chance to write. I also don't write linearly, so I sometimes have later chapters mostly done before finishing the next one. I'm also generally working on several short stories at once. All of this means I myself almost never know when I'll have a chapter finished.
> 
> I appreciate your patience in regards to updates and if you're interested in updates to a story I highly recommend subscribing to the story, series or just my author name.


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